Irish Thunder

by Bob Halloran

  Cappuccino told both fighters to get back in their corners and wait for the word. The bell had already sounded to start the final round, and by the time everything was cleared up, extraneous people cleared out of the ring, thirty seconds had passed. The tenth and final round of this amazing battle would only be two and a half minutes long.

  Thinking it was over, Micky recalled, “I was like ‘Thank God.’ It was a huge sigh of relief. I was like, ‘Oh, yeah!’ I mean, I can’t say how much that meant to me. And then somebody says, ‘Oh, no. The fight’s not over.’ So, I was like, ‘What the hell?’ I had to get remotivated. What the fuck! Now you got to get back up again. I only had seconds to get back. I was flat after that. No excuse. He won the tenth. No doubt about it.”

  Micky was flat because in boxing, unlike other sporting events, a fighter is glad when it’s over. Whether he won or lost, he’s simply glad it’s over. So, it’s extremely difficult to restart.

  Gatti’s corner didn’t stop the fight, although the fight could have been stopped by rule during the ninth round when McGirt climbed onto the ring apron a few seconds too early as Gatti was getting pummeled at the end of the round. McGirt considered having the fight stopped and even went over to Pat Lynch before the start of the tenth and said, “I’m telling you right now, if he starts taking some shots, I’m stopping it.”

  The ninth round, considered by many to be the “Round of the Century” was a display of the best and worst boxing has to offer. It was the best because it showed how much courage and valor man can possess, but it was the worst because man is not supposed to have that much courage and valor. It’s not healthy.

  Gatti did win the tenth round, and he did it almost miraculously. He came out bouncing around as if the previous round had never happened. He was refreshed. He quickly landed a hard body shot and three more to the head. Two straight hands and a big left hook opened up Micky’s cut. Micky had lost his momentum and was waiting for the fight to end. It was a potentially disastrous mistake on his part, because the decision of the judges was very much in doubt. In a rare moment of inactivity, Micky and Gatti leaned against one another. They did not hold each other. They did not clench. They did not throw punches. They merely leaned against one another, each man’s chin resting on the other man’s shoulder. They were essentially holding each other up.

  “I am humbled by watching these two guys take the punishment they are taking,” said Merchant.

  With twenty seconds left, both fighters just kept throwing punches with reckless abandon. In ten seconds, they threw what seemed to be a hundred punches. In reality, it was only forty, but the flurry was exciting to watch.

  “This is the way it has to end,” Merchant said.

  “We told you this would be a candidate for Fight of the Year,” Lampley added. “We didn’t know it would be a candidate for Fight of the Century.”

  With ten seconds left, a few final blows were landed in the center of the ring until, finally, Gatti stumbled forward and hugged Micky. Both men staggered up against the ropes. Before Cappuccino could separate them, the bell sounded, and the fighters who had just tried to pummel each other into submission, embraced in a moment of mutual respect.

  “Arturo Gatti, Irish Micky Ward, two of the most honest fighters in the sport of boxing,” Lampley summarized. “Circa 2002, a fight straight out of the 1950s, a throwback to the golden era of the ring.”

  Dozens of people crowded into the ring. Micky paced and continued to bleed. He managed to smile as he awaited the decision that would change his life. A win meant he would get another big-money fight, perhaps his first million-dollar payday. A loss meant he might retire.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a majority decision,” the ring announcer said into the microphone. Micky shrugged as if to say, “Of course. Nothing ever comes easy.”

  “Judge Frank Lombardi scores the bout 94-94, a draw. Judge Richard Flaherty scores it 94-93. Judge Steve Weisfeld sees it 95-93. All to the winner by majority decision . . .”

  Sal held his breath. Dickie clenched his fists. Micky prayed.

  “. . . Irish Micky Ward.”

  Micky heard his name. Then he heard it again.

  “Ward!” the announcer repeated.

  Micky exhaled hard, the way a man might when he’s trying not to cry. There was so much emotion, so much relief, so many people looking to share in the moment. Sal bear-hugged Micky, lifting him several feet off the ground. Micky raised his fist in victory, but allowed himself to celebrate for just a few seconds. He jumped down from Sal’s embrace and rushed over to congratulate Arturo. They shook hands and knew at that moment that they would be forever linked. They had just made history. The question asked almost immediately was, “Would history repeat itself?”

  Larry Merchant posed the idea of a rematch during his post-fight interview with Micky and Gatti.

  “Thank you, guys, for giving us a memorable night at the fights,” Merchant began. “Was this as tough as anything you’ve been through, Micky?”

  “Most definitely,” Micky responded. “Arturo’s a gentleman. He’s a great fighter. He didn’t have to prove nothing to no one tonight. He’s proved over the years what he can do. He’s a great man. He’s a great warrior. I have nothing but total respect for him. This fight was a very close fight. This fight could have gone either way in my mind. I take nothing from Arturo. He’s a great man.”

  Gatti offered similar praise, “He’s a really tough guy. You know, I hit him with some good shots. He kept getting stronger every round, and I’ve got to give it to him. It was a tough fight, close fight. It could have gone either way. I just thought that I shouldn’t have got a point taken off for a low blow, because it was not intentional. But that’s all right.”

  It was the point deduction in the fourth round, and Micky’s 10-8 round as a result of the knockdown in the ninth that pushed Micky over the top on two of the judges’ scorecards.

  “At the end of the ninth round was your trainer trying to stop the fight?” Merchant continued with Gatti.

  “Not at all. He told me if I wanted to keep going, keep going. He said it’s a close fight, you can win this fight. This is the last round. If you take this round, you have the fight. I wanted to keep going. You know he hurt me to the body. He’s a strong guy.”

  “Were you almost out in that ninth round?”

  “Actually, I was trying to take my breath back and he kept punching me, but no, I’m all right. I know I seem gone, but I’m not.”

  Merchant turned to Micky, “Did you think he was finished in that ninth round?”

  “Oh, yeah! To be honest with you, I did. I did. But you can’t take nothing for granted with Arturo. He’s a rock. He’s like granite. I don’t know how to explain it, man. He’s like granite. I’ve never hit anyone with shots like that. My hand’s killing me, and my elbow. I don’t know. What the hell’s he got in his head? I don’t know. I almost punched myself out. When he started coming back, I said, ‘Damn!’ I just had to keep throwing. One-two, one-two, one-two. Straight punches.”

  Finally, Merchant asked the question on everybody’s mind.

  “Do you guys want to do this again?”

  “I would love to,” Gatti said, extending his hand to Micky. “I would love to get a rematch.”

  Micky shook Gatti’s hand and said, “If we can do it, we’ll do it. We can talk. It’s a great fight between two warriors. It’s honesty.”

  Gatti’s manager, Pat Lynch, heard the words, and his heart dropped to the floor.

  He walked Gatti back to the locker room wondering all the while if a second fight with Micky Ward was a good idea. Yes, there would be very good money for both guys, but to repeat the utter brutality could jeopardize both men’s careers, and even the quality of their lives.

  After a combined 521 power punches, 296 for Gatti, 225 for Ward, the combatants were willing to clash again—for the right money.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The hard-luck loser was on top of the world. Mick
y Ward, who had lost nearly every big fight of his career, had just won his biggest. Before Gatti, he was a journeyman fighter. Now, everyone in the boxing community, the money men on the inside and the fans on the outside, knew who Micky Ward was. He was a brave, gutsy, honest, blue-collar worker who just happened to do his work inside a square ring. He was old school. So was Gatti. From now on, when people talked about the greatest fights of all time, Gatti-Ward would be in the conversation. For now, however, the conversation centered on how to get them to do it again.

  This time, however, Micky was more involved and more demanding about what kind of money he’d be making for a rematch with Gatti.

  “I want a million dollars,” he said. It was a number that commanded instant respect. Micky had been abusing himself for the pleasure of others for thirty years, and he figured it was time he got paid for it. DiBella and LoNano believed that Micky should get his million bucks, so that was the starting-off point for the negotiations. But Micky asked for his million before he knew how much money was in the fight. As it turned out, there was more than 2.1 million dollars earmarked for Team Ward.

  So, DiBella and LoNano can pat themselves on the back for holding true to their word about getting Micky his million-dollar payday. But for Gatti-Ward II, DiBella received six hundred thousand dollars. Sal got three hundred thousand dollars. Al Valenti got one hundred thousand dollars. And Dickie got one hundred thousand dollars, too. Add it up with Micky’s million, and it shows that Lou picked up 30 percent of Micky’s total purse, Sal 15 percent, and Al and Dickie each walked away with 5 percent.

  “We’re all making this fight.” Sal explained. “I’m going for the gusto. I could have very easily said to Micky, ‘You’re gonna fight Arturo for six hundred grand,’ but I said ‘No.’ I took my management fee beyond that, so that he got his purse every time.”

  Micky’s family suggested to him that he should just cut DiBella out of the deal entirely. After all, he never signed a contract with DiBella, and Kathy Duva and Main Events had taken the lead in promoting the fight. So why should DiBella be entitled to such a large chunk of change?

  “There’s a real sort of mobster sense to the whole thing,” Ron Borges explains, “where if you forget me now, I’ll forget you later.”

  But this time Micky wouldn’t listen to his mother or Dickie. DiBella had been loyal to him after he lost to Leija, and now Micky would be loyal to DiBella. Micky holds no grudges, but he is aware that Lou and Sal grabbed a bigger slice for themselves than they should have. But in the moment that he received that one-million-dollar check with his name on it, nothing else mattered. “When I got that check with all the zeroes on it, it was like Woo-woo! Mr. Magoo!”

  Now, since Micky won the first fight, his people should have been promoting the second fight. The upside was enormously high because the boxing community was buzzing with anticipation of the rematch. But DiBella wasn’t in the financial position to take all the risk, so Main Events took over.

  “For all his knowledge, Lou had very little experience on this side of the desk,” Valenti explained. “There was no rematch clause in the original contract, so Lou is supposed to take the upper hand. I told Lou, ‘Look, you can make a deal tomorrow for Foxwoods, but it’s a smaller venue, so you’re gonna have a PR problem. You had seven thousand at the last fight, you’re gonna have twenty thousand who want to see the next fight. If you go to Foxwoods, you’re gonna be in a four-thousand-seat bingo hall. You know what? It’s gonna sell out. So what? You’re in control. That’s all that matters.’”

  But DiBella wasn’t in control. He and Duva agreed that they would both go out and shop for the best site deal they could get. Whoever came back with the best deal would get the fight at their desired location. Because Gatti fought out of New Jersey, Duva wanted the fight in Atlantic City, and she got an offer from Bally’s. DiBella wanted the fight closer to Micky’s home, so he pursued an offer from Tom Cantone, the vice president of entertainment at Foxwoods. Cantone’s offer of five hundred thousand dollars was slightly higher than Bally’s. So, by the original agreement, Foxwoods would get the fight. But Duva wasn’t ready to give up.

  During a conference call with DiBella and Cantone, Duva announced, “There’s another bid. My company’s bidding.”

  Main Events put up the money, assumed all the risk, and cut a side deal with Bally’s to have the fight at Boardwalk Hall which seats 11,500 people. The fight sold out, and Main Events cashed in.

  “It was driving me crazy that this fight was going to go into a bingo parlor with four thousand seats,” Duva said. “It just seemed wrong.”

  Valenti, who thought the fight should have been staged either in Boston or at Foxwoods, was disappointed, both in the outcome and in DiBella.

  “He dropped the ball,” Valenti says critically. “In the final analysis, we had a deal with Foxwoods. And in fairness to Lou, he buckled. But it was a good day for everybody. There were some bumps in there. I don’t like that we had a deal with Foxwoods and walked away. I don’t like the idea that Kathy Duva treated us like second-class citizens. We won the first fight, and we’re looking to have the lead in the second fight. But bygones are bygones. Everybody made money.”

  And although it was true that Duva was trying to gain a home “ring” advantage by bringing the fight to New Jersey, Micky wasn’t concerned. Atlantic City was like his second home anyway. In fact, he had fought in Atlantic City more times than Gatti had.

  “The crowd can’t be any more hostile than when I fought Jesse James Leija in San Antonio or Shea Neary in London,” Micky told reporters at a pre-fight news conference. “And I won the crowd over in that fight.”

  And Micky was already winning people over. That news conference was held at McSorley’s Old Ale House just off the Bowery, and while the gathered media remained impartial, the patrons were squarely on Micky’s side. It helped that McSorley’s was an old Irish saloon. It first opened its swinging doors in 1854, and its list of customers included everyone from Abraham Lincoln to John Lennon and now Micky Ward and Arturo Gatti.

  “So this is what a real Irish bar looks like,” Valenti said as he shuffled across the sawdust-covered floor. “I’d always wondered.”

  Micky was also finding new friends closer to home. In the weeks leading up to the rematch, Micky was honored by supporters at the Somerville Good Times Sports Emporium. After a big night of drinking and celebrating, Sal presented Micky with a brand-new blue Corvette, which George Kimball of the Boston Herald reported, “Micky was in no condition to drive.”

  There was also a big send-off rally at the John F. Kennedy Plaza outside Lowell City Hall. And on Veterans Day, an organization of former U.S. Marines known as the Semper Fidelis Society gave Micky its first Ted Williams Globe and Anchor Award. The honor recognized the “commitment and dedication to excellence” that baseball Hall of Famer Ted Williams showed as a marine fighter pilot and for the rest of his life on and off the baseball field.

  “For me to be even mentioned in the same breath as Ted Williams is an incredible honor,” Micky said.

  This was a new life for Micky. Honors and accolades were coming from all directions. His rematch with Gatti was among the most anticipated fights in recent years, and he was becoming a star. No longer driving down to Atlantic City with Mickey O’Keefe or with Richie Bryan scrounging for gas money along the way, Micky was going to and from press conferences in stretch limos.

  All he ever did was work hard and stay straight. He remained loyal to his brother, keeping Dickie by his side all the way to the top of the mountain. He remained loyal to Lou DiBella who he never had a contract with, but felt obligated to. He never forgot who his friends were, and he was never fooled by the hangers-on who only pretended to be his friends. It was also never lost on Micky how incredibly fortunate he was. He knew that hard work guaranteed nothing. Other boxers had worked hard, maybe just as hard or harder. But they weren’t about to step into the ring for a million dollars. They were forgotten warriors, guys who
had fallen long before they ever reached the dizzying heights to which Micky had climbed. They were equally deserving, but not nearly as lucky.

  There was Ray Oliveira of nearby New Bedford, Massachusetts. Oliveira beat Charles Murray twice and Vince Phillips once. Micky lost to both those fighters, but he was cashing in and Oliveira was having trouble finding fights. There was David Rivello who battled Micky to a split decision, and never fought again. Rivello was a talented fighter with a lot of heart. Where was his million-dollar payday? There was Reggie Green, who battled Micky evenly for ten rounds and then fought only four more times, twice against guys with losing records for short money. When Green lost to Zab Judah, it was the last time he ever fought. When Micky lost to Judah, his career was just starting to take off.

  Years of hard work, countless hours in lonely, dusty old gyms, thousands of times caught on the receiving end of punches that would make most men cry, and still there are no guarantees. The night of November 23, 2002, as he stepped into the ring in front of nearly twelve thousand boxing fans and millions more watching at home, Micky knew that he had made it as a boxer.

  Gatti was actually the first to step into the ring that night wearing a baseball cap of the Port Authority Police. He bounced around and jabbed while Micky made his entrance to the rock sounds of Whitesnake singing, “Here I Go Again.” The lyrics seemed especially appropriate.“I don’t know where I’m going, but I sure know where I’ve been. . . . Here I go again on my own. Going down the only road I’ve ever known. Like a drifter I was born to walk alone. And I’ve made up my mind. I ain’t wasting no more time.”

  Micky had the number 9 on his white trunks, in honor of Ted Williams. He was wearing blue sneakers. Gatti was wearing just the opposite, blue trunks with white sneakers. They both waited in their respective corners as the ring announcer, Michael Buffer, momentarily silenced the crowd.

  “Main Events in association with DiBella Entertainment and the King of Beer, Budweiser, along with HBO Sports, are proud to present the featured bout of the evening. The rematch. Ten rounds of boxing for the undisputed, never-surrender, blood-and-guts championship of the world!”